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Best Famous Haiku Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Haiku poems. This is a select list of the best famous Haiku poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Haiku poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of haiku poems.

Search for the best famous Haiku poems, articles about Haiku poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Haiku poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

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Famous poems below this ad
Written by Tanwir Phool | |

Haiku

Khail maiN haiN mashGhool
BachchoN ke dil ki dhaRkan
ChiRyaa , titli , phool

(Poet : Tanwir Phool)

English translation
-------------------------
They are busy in playing.
Children are very fond of Sparrow , butterfly and flower You may read more poetry (Ghazal) of Tanwir Phool at this link: http://www.
urdubandhan.
com/bazm/viewtopic.
php?f=2&t=7403


Written by Masaoka Shiki | |

Toward those short trees

Toward those short trees
We saw a hawk descending
On a day in spring


Written by Natsume Soseki | |

Over the wintry

Over the wintry
forest, winds howl in rage
with no leaves to blow.


More great poems below...

Written by Emanuel Xavier | |

A SIMPLE POEM

 I want you to continue writing
because I will not always be around

With lips that will never touch mine
read your poems out loud
so that the words are left engraved 
on the wall
make me feel your voice rush through me
like a breeze from Oyá

I want to hear about Puerto Rico
about sisters with names like La Bruja
about educating youth about AIDS
I want to hear about life 
in the Boogie Down Bronx
surviving on the Down Low
don't leave out stories about men
you have loved and still love

I want you to write poems that you 
will never read
press hard on the paper 
so that the ink runs deep
hold the pen tight 
so that you control the details
prove to me that I inspire you
reveal yourself between the lines
hear my praise 
with each flicker of the candle
Write a poem for me

Do not choose a fresh page 
from a brand new journal
use paper that has been crumbled and tossed
thrown out by a spineless father 
only to be recycled
Save a tree for future poets to write under

Rewrite me into someone more attractive
stronger than life has made me
make me tough and sexy, 
aggressive like a tiger
stain the pages with cum, 
lube, the arousal you find
at the sight of naked boys, draw me sketches
bring the words to life with images
make me a man with this poem

Read it in front of the audience
with hidden messages just for me
be real and tell me why
I am only worth a haiku

Your epics are meant for others
I already know,
use red ink to match the blood 
from these wounds
with brutal honesty
let me die with your last sentence

Then resurrect me with rhyme
read from your gut
let me hear the wisdom of mi abuelo 
in your voice
let me find my father in you
remind me of all the men 
that left me broken promises

In your eyes I want to see a poem
when you bring me to tears
with painful memories
buried beneath your thick skin

Between teeth gapped like divas,
I want to hear quotes from books
I never read

Make me believe you want to be a poet

Make my heart break,
tell me why you could never love me
with just a few words
leave me lost and insecure
feel the admiration of others
bask in their desire
forget that I am there

Pound your fists in the air with passion
go off about politics, poverty, 
machismo and hate
scream poems that don't give a fuck
about traditions, slamming or scores
save your whispers 
for those who make love to you

Write a poem for me 
that makes me want to puff a joint

A poem that loses control
unafraid to be vulnerable
for once just make me believe
it is all worth letting go
when the smoke clears
I will understand
the reason 
I am just another face 
in the crowd

I want you to continue writing
because I will not always be around


Written by Barry Tebb | |

MY PERFECT ROSE

 At ten she came to me, three years ago,

There was ‘something between us’ even then;

Watching her write like Eliot every day,

Turn prose into haiku in ten minutes flat,

Write a poem in Greek three weeks from learning the alphabet;

Then translate it as ‘Sun on a tomb, gold place, small sacred horse’.
I never got over having her in the room, though Every day she was impossible in a new way, Stamping her foot like a naughty Enid Blyton child, Shouting "Poets don’t do arithmetic!" Or drawing caricatures of me in her book.
Then there were the ‘moments of vision’, her eyes Dissolving the blank walls and made-up faces, Genius painfully going through her paces, The skull she drew, the withered chrysanthemum And scarlet rose, ‘Descensus averno’, like Virgil, I supposed.
Now three years later, in nylons and tight skirt, She returns from grammar school to make a chaos of my room; Plaiting a rose in her hair, I remember the words of her poem - ‘For love is wrong/in word, in deed/But you will be mine’ And now her promise to come the last two days of term, "But not tell them", the diamond bomb exploding In her eyes, the key left ‘Accidentally’ on my desk And the faint surprise.


Written by Barry Tebb | |

LETTER TO MICHAEL HOROVITZ

 It is time after thirty years

We had our Poetry Renaissance

Rise, Children of Albion, rise!

It is time after nightmares of sleep

When we walked the streets of inner cities

Our poems among the burnt-out houses

And cars, whispering compassion

To the addicts shaking and the homeless

Waking and those who have come apart

In the nowhere of today

Begging in stations

Sleeping in boxes.
It is time to find Our lost, those children I taught three decades ago To paint on ceilings With sticks of incense Rainbows of silence For John Cage To write on walls In luminous paint Pink haiku For Allen Ginsberg.
It is time to awaken and emblazon the sky With symphonies of sorrow, To draft the articles of war.
Poets of the Underground The doors have opened The ghost of Walt Whitman Grey-bearded, in lonely anguish Walks with us.


Written by Jack Kerouac | |

Haiku

 Birds singing
 in the dark
—Rainy dawn.


Written by Jack Kerouac | |

Haiku

 The low yellow
 moon above the
Quiet lamplit house


Written by Jack Kerouac | |

Haiku

 The taste
 of rain
—Why kneel?


Written by Kobayashi Issa | |

That wren

 That wren--
looking here, looking there.
You lose something?


Written by Allen Ginsberg | |

Haiku (Never Published)

 Drinking my tea
Without sugar-
 No difference.
The sparrow shits upside down --ah! my brain & eggs Mayan head in a Pacific driftwood bole --Someday I'll live in N.
Y.
Looking over my shoulder my behind was covered with cherry blossoms.
Winter Haiku I didn't know the names of the flowers--now my garden is gone.
I slapped the mosquito and missed.
What made me do that? Reading haiku I am unhappy, longing for the Nameless.
A frog floating in the drugstore jar: summer rain on grey pavements.
(after Shiki) On the porch in my shorts; auto lights in the rain.
Another year has past-the world is no different.
The first thing I looked for in my old garden was The Cherry Tree.
My old desk: the first thing I looked for in my house.
My early journal: the first thing I found in my old desk.
My mother's ghost: the first thing I found in the living room.
I quit shaving but the eyes that glanced at me remained in the mirror.
The madman emerges from the movies: the street at lunchtime.
Cities of boys are in their graves, and in this town.
.
.
Lying on my side in the void: the breath in my nose.
On the fifteenth floor the dog chews a bone- Screech of taxicabs.
A hardon in New York, a boy in San Fransisco.
The moon over the roof, worms in the garden.
I rent this house.
[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624 Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.
H.
Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku.
"]


Written by Adrian Green | |

Luna Lake Haiku

 New moon on the lake.
Your voice and the nightingale serenade springtime.
Full moon on the lake.
Your voice and the waterbirds celebrate summer.
Old moon on the lake.
Owls hunting autumnal food - your voice still singing.


Written by Donald Hall | |

Distressed Haiku

 In a week or ten days
the snow and ice
will melt from Cemetery Road.
I'm coming! Don't move! Once again it is April.
Today is the day we would have been married twenty-six years.
I finished with April halfway through March.
You think that their dying is the worst thing that could happen.
Then they stay dead.
Will Hall ever write lines that do anything but whine and complain? In April the blue mountain revises from white to green.
The Boston Red Sox win a hundred straight games.
The mouse rips the throat of the lion and the dead return.


Written by Paul Eluard | |

Five Haiku

 The wind 
Undecided 
Rolls a cigarette of air 

The mute girl talks: 
It is art's imperfection.
This impenetrable speech.
The motor car is truly launched: Four martyrs' heads Roll under the wheels.
Ah! a thousand flames, a fire, The light, a shadow! The sun is following me.
A feather gives to a hat A touch of lightness: The chimney smokes.


Written by Matsuo Basho | |

The old pond

 Following are several translations
of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be
the most famous of all haiku:

Furuike ya 
kawazu tobikomu 
mizu no oto

 -- Basho



Literal Translation

Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya, 
ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into) 
mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound)






 The old pond--
a frog jumps in,
 sound of water.
Translated by Robert Hass Old pond.
.
.
a frog jumps in water's sound.
Translated by William J.
Higginson An old silent pond.
.
.
A frog jumps into the pond, splash! Silence again.
Translated by Harry Behn There is the old pond! Lo, into it jumps a frog: hark, water's music! Translated by John Bryan The silent old pond a mirror of ancient calm, a frog-leaps-in splash.
Translated by Dion O'Donnol old pond frog leaping splash Translated by Cid Corman Antic pond-- frantic frog jumps in-- gigantic sound.
Translated by Bernard Lionel Einbond MAFIA HIT MAN POET: NOTE FOUND PINNED TO LAPEL OF DROWNED VICTIM'S DOUBLE-BREASTED SUIT!!! 'Dere wasa dis frogg Gone jumpa offa da logg Now he inna bogg.
' -- Anonymous Translated by George M.
Young, Jr.
Old pond leap -- splash a frog.
Translated by Lucien Stryck The old pond, A frog jumps in:.
Plop! Translated by Allan Watts The old pond, yes, and A frog is jumping into The water, and splash.
Translated by G.
S.
Fraser